


Water and Whine

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-04
Updated: 2004-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fed-up Spike turns to liquor for guidance. Only he didn't expect his demonic troubles to follow him. Or for certain stimuli to make Illyria feel playful in an entirely different way... Humorous Spike/Illyria smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slumming

Spike entered the bar with a bang, the door slamming against the wall with the force of his shove. His duster _would’ve_ swirled about him dramatically, had he been wearing it. Hands still clenched to fists, he stalked his way up to the bar, kicked out a stool, and plopped himself down. “The strongest whiskey you’ve got,” he demanded, voice tight and trying to restrain his demon’s growl of frustration and anger.

His companion entered the bar with only half as much fanfare and turned twice as many heads. Because pissed Spike was a regular occurrence; it wasn’t every day that a beautiful woman, decked out in the tightest costume any of them had ever seen and sporting bright blue hair, walked into this dive.

Amused smile on her face, Illyria walked leisurely over to where Spike was sitting, the black leather covering she’d ‘skinned’ from her newest plaything tucked under one arm.

Spike looked up at her, snatched up the bottle, and downed half the liquor in one long gulp. He looked up at her again. Nope, still not enough to make this guard duty palatable. He took another swig.

Illyria sniffed the air curiously, and her nose scrunched up in distaste at the foul odor. “You are imbibing poison,” she stated, cocking her head to one side curiously. “Wesley did much the same. Why?”

His jaw muscle ticked, and he took another long drag. “Must be the delightful pleasure of your company,” he retorted sarcastically.

She looked at him blankly, blinking slowly.

Spike sighed. Damn. She really wanted an answer. “Makes us hurt less,” he elaborated.

“Ingesting toxins reduces your pain?” Illyria repeated skeptically. “How?”

“It just does!” he exclaimed in exasperation. He tried to drink from the bottle again, found it empty, and signaled to the barkeep for another.

Most bartenders would’ve been surprised by Spike’s speed and stamina. But Harold had been watching him come in for months now. He was starting to suspect that Spike had some physiological condition that let him drink more. That would also explain why he could get hit over the head with a barstool and not flinch, and throw off ten drunken brawlers. Harold wondered whether Spike did stunt-work for a living, but the other man was always so surly when he came in that Harold had never bothered to ask. He placed another bottle on the table.

Spike drank deep and sighed. The alcohol was beginning to go to his brain now, and talking with Illyria was _slightly_ less unpleasant than it had been a few minutes before.

“That is not an acceptable answer,” she informed him.

Okay, so maybe she was as unpleasant as ever…

“Tough luck, princess,” he retorted, turning his back on her to face the bar once more.

Illyria’s expression hardened. “Your function is to keep me entertained,” she said petulantly. “If I wished to watch a mortal get drunk, I would seek out Wesley.”

Spike growled at her over the rim of the bottle. “Go do that, then,” he retorted.

Inhuman eyes looked around the room, blue lip curling in disgust at the dregs of humanity before her. “You drink yourselves to death when already your existence is so brief, so insignificant…”

“Yup,” Spike agreed proudly, “now go along and play with someone else.”

Illyria frowned at that. The truth was that she’d been rather bored since returning to this world. There was little death, destruction, or pain. It was really a horribly dull place. At least with Spike around, she could amuse herself by hitting him.

“I do not wish to,” she said simply, as if the entire world revolved around what she wanted and didn’t want. Which, admittedly, had been the case for most of her existence.

Spike sighed wearily and banged his forehead against the edge of the bar. Harold subtly slipped a coaster between Spike’s forehead and the pristine counter in between bangs.

“I do not even have to lift a hand to hit you anymore,” Illyria announced, a small satisfied smile curving her lips.

That did stop Spike. He glared up at her. “Why are you tormentin’ me?” he demanded, taking another long sip of whiskey. Oh yeah, he was definitely starting to get snookered.

“Because you whine so well,” she retorted smugly.

Spike grumbled into his bottle. “Haughty strumpet.”

Illyria ignored him and returned to her study of their surroundings. Half a dozen of the humans were studying her with utmost scrutiny. Lust scented the air and caused her to shudder. Vile, limited creatures…

“I wish to leave,” she informed Spike.

“Really?” he perked. “Tha’s just grand. Have yourself a ball, kitten.”

“You will accompany me,” she added matter-of-factly.

The liquor gave him bravado he wouldn’t have dared sober. Oh, who was he kidding? He’d probably have done just the same thing without the whiskey. “Bugger. That,” he retorted snidely, waving the bartender to bring him a beer. Maybe mixing alcohol would solve the Illyria-problem…

She frowned. “This place is not suitable,” she repeated. “We will return to the lab.”

“Good luck with that, then,” he shot over his shoulder.

She stomped her foot of the ground petulantly and grabbed his shoulder, preparing to spin him around and punish him for his insolence.

She was disrupted, however, by a tap on the shoulder.

Turning in shocked surprise, she discovered that one of the barflies had just gotten drunk enough to make a pass at her. “They’re playing our song, baby,” he slurred, his foul breath causing her to scrunch up her nose in disgust.

The rest of the bar patrons watched, curious to see what the babe would do.

Spike winced in anticipation.

Illyria fixed the man with a cold, vacant expression. “You presume to address me?” she demanded, outraged.

“Presume?” he blinked at her confusedly, hiccuping. Then he grinned as if suddenly remembering what the word meant. “Aw, yeah, baby. Night’s made for lovers.” He gave her a playful pat on the butt.

“Try not to kill him,” Spike whispered in a wild hope of keeping the carnage down.

Illyria’s blue eyes flashed. The human got one look of enraged demoness that made his eyes wide in fear, and then he abruptly found himself flying through the air, only to land hard atop a table nearly twenty feet away. He made a little groaning sound and passed out.

“Still alive,” Illyria informed Spike. “…Regrettably.”

“Amen to that,” he agreed, taking a fortifying sip of beer.

The rest of the patrons watched the downed man, turned back to where Illyria was still raging, and applauded. Illyria blinked in surprise. The clapping stopped, and everyone turned back to their drinks, completely ignoring her now.

“Now, may we leave?” she demanded. The very thought of negotiating with Spike was distasteful, but she tried it nonetheless. “I will return this coat you value so much.” She held out the duster in offering.

Oh, now that _was_ tempting. But Illyria in a bar was starting to turn into something more entertaining than he’d ever suspected. Dangerous, too, of course, but he was just drunk enough by then that he didn’t care about that part.

“Why bother leavin’?” he retorted, gesturing to where everyone in the bar was pointedly ignoring her for fear of their manhood. “Got ‘em all wrapped around your finger now, luv. Won’t bother you again.”

Illyria cocked her head to once side at that, considered it for a moment, and was pleased. “Humans are such fragile creatures,” she informed him. “So weak and easy to control.”

“Tasty, too,” he agreed. Oh yes, he was completely gone now. “Have a seat, bluebell,” he patted the stool beside him. “No point standin’ about for hours.”

“Unlike your feeble species, I do not weary,” she informed him smugly.

“You just don’t wanna sit on the nasty stool,” he accused.

She paused for a second. “That, too,” she agreed. And, then, simply because she knew it would annoy him, she set his duster down on the Stool Of Questionable Sanitation and sat upon it. She gave him a taunting smile.

His eyes narrowed. “I really, truly hate you,” he informed her with a growl.

“I would respond in kind, were it not for the fact that you are no more significant to me than the dust upon my boots,” Illyria retorted proudly.

“You talk to the dust on your boots often, then?” he retorted with a grin.

Her expression hardened, and she pointedly turned away.

“So, what’ll your girl be having?” Harold asked politely when it looked like the couple would be staying. He kept one eye on the back of the room where two of Ed’s friends were helping him to his feet. Looked like the damn fool was all right. Although he was claiming that the punch had knocked him literally back through time into last week. Pshaw. Drunks.

Spike coughed at that, spitting out his Sam Adams all over the counter. He began hacking in horrified disbelief, desperate to get his message out. “ _Not_. My. Girl!”

Harold quickly moved to wipe up the counter and replaced Spike’s beer. “This isn’t the one you complain about all the time that hits you in the nose?”

“I hit him in the nose often,” Illyria informed the bartender proudly. “He complains and whimpers.”

Harold just nodded slowly. A friend of Spike’s from the stunt business, perhaps?

“That’s another nose-hittin’ bint you’re thinking of, mate,” Spike quickly straightened out the misconception. “This one’s just…”

“His job is to let me hit him,” Illyria teased.

Spike’s eyes narrowed.

 _Hey! Right about the stunt thing, after all…_ Harold put another beer on the counter. “On me,” he announced. “And…my condolences,” he grinned at Spike.

Spike chuckled at that.

Illyria, thankfully, didn’t get the joke.

“So what’ll the lady have?” he addressed Illyria politely.

Spike snickered at the term ‘lady’.

“I do not ingest toxins,” she informed Harold haughtily.

Harold scratched his head. “No booze? Er…I can get you some water…”

“Water is for pond scum and other inferior creatures from the primordial ooze,” Illyria insisted.

“Uh…” Harold wondered if this doll had been hit one too many times in the head.

“Just get her a glass of water,” Spike rushed to the rescue. “Not wastin’ _my_ dollar on a bird with no taste whatsoever.”

“I do not want water,” Illyria informed him matter-of-factly even as Harold sent the glass down in front of her, complete with little coaster underneath.

“Fine, then don’t drink it,” Spike retorted petulantly, “if you’re so bloody afraid that it’ll make your holiness look like one of us slobs.” He finished his beer and took up the free bottle Harold had given him.

“Afraid?” Illyria repeated, outraged. “You honestly think that anything in your puny world could—”

“Wimp,” Spike cut her off, grinning.

Illyria’s hands clenched into fists, and before she could think about it, she’d downed the entire glass with one long gulp. “Uninteresting,” she informed him, testing the taste in her mouth.

Spike gave her a look like she was an idiot. “Well, yeah. It’s _water_. Try some of the good stuff if you want somethin’ to pique your interest…”

“Absurd,” she insisted.

Harold just shook his head at the strange pair and refilled the water glass. This lady was going to need a lot if she was going to wait for Spike to finish getting drunk for the evening…

* * *

About thirty minutes later, when Spike had turned to downing shots and Illyria was slowly sipping at water glass number four, Spike began to realize that something was terribly, horribly wrong. The realization came slowly to his alcohol-fogged brain. There was a bit of confusion at first, before he figured out what exactly it was that was wrong, then a very difficult process of trying to figure out _why_ certain things seemed awry, and belatedly a conclusion that this is could be very, very bad.

Frowning, he slumped forward onto the bar, resting on one cheek so that he could look at Illyria. “What’d you say again?” he demanded, unsure if he was just going crazy from alcohol poisoning.

A small smile, and another sip from her water glass. “I said,” she informed him, leaning in close so that long blue locks of hair caressed the bar counter, “that when I take over the world again, I will be assured to make you minister of f…” Her brow creased for a second, as if she couldn’t think of the right word or couldn’t quite get her tongue around it. “Fun!” she finally proclaimed in delight, smacking him lightly on the shoulder in victory. She tilted her head to one side and smiled at him lazily. “You are so much fun,” she informed him, her tone happy and sappy all at once.

He gulped, sobering almost instantly. God, how he wished it were alcohol poisoning. He’s _kill_ for alcohol poisoning right about now. Because something or other – heaven only knew what – was making Illyria act as though…

She giggled. “You know…” she commented, head lying against the bar now as she looked up at him. She paused then, frowning, before crooking one finger at him to come closer in. “It’s a secret,” she said, sounding horribly serious.

Warily Spike leaned in so that she could whisper in his ear.

“You are ‘cute’ – I believe your word is? – when you’re confused,” she breathed against his flesh before her lips pressed against his earlobe in an obvious – and very intentional – kiss.

He instantly leapt back in horror, falling off his stool in the process – damn thing had been moving around on him all night – and landing on his ass on the floor. He gulped, throat suddenly dry as she giggled again and batted her eyelashes at him. Oh dear god, she was…

“Drunk,” he rasped with wide-eyed horror. Quickly, he turned to Harold. “What’d you put in her glass?” he demanded, outraged.

Harold looked just as puzzled as Spike did. “It’s just water,” he insisted.

“Water,” Illyria agreed, finishing her glass with a flourish. She looked down at where Spike was still sitting on the floor in shock and giggled again. “You amuse me,” she informed him.

Spike cringed instinctively at that giggle. There was so much of Fred in it, yet a distinctive haughty wickedness that was all too clearly purely Illyria. “How did you…?” he began in disbelief, scrambling to his wobbly feet. “How did she…?” he turned to Harold instead. Got a shrug in response.

“Whasyur problem?” Illyria wondered, speech slurring. She frowned for a second, baffled by her jumbled words. The natural solution came from Fred’s stored memories. “I require more water.” She held up her empty glass imperiously.

Spike stared at it blankly for a second before his drunken mind finally connected the dots. “No more water!” he yelled to Harold hastily.

The barkeep just froze, pitcher still poised to pour more. Quickly deciding that both of them were completely out of their minds, he slowly backed away. At least his other customers required actual alcohol to get drunk.

Illyria pouted when he left, jutting out her blue lower lip. “You made him go away,” she complained, poking Spike pointedly in the chest when he collapsed on the stool beside her once more. “And I’m thirsty,” she whined.

“How can you be thirsty?” he demanded. “You said you never…drinkted? Drinked? Dranked? Drunkened?” He frowned and tried to concentrate really hard on what the right word was.

Apparently, Illyria had no difficulty deciphering his drunken ramblings. “I do not know,” she agreed. “It is…fun. It makes my head feel…warm.”

“Warm in the head’s _bad_ ,” Spike insisted, waving his hands in warning. “Need you to be the cold, insensitive bitch again, luv.”

She sulked. “I do not wish to.”

He gulped. “I need a phone,” he decided quickly. “We need a SWAT team and a…SWAT team in here right now.” He looked up and down the bar as if expecting to find the phone there. “And my clipboard… Where’s my clipboard?”

Illyria caught him when he turned to search, catching him by the back of the head and pulling him back toward her until his lips were only inches from hers. “You love that clipboard more than you love me,” she accused, sounding terribly hurt.

“No no, luv, tha’s not true,” he instinctively tried to placate her.

“No?” she inquired, head cocked to one side.

Belatedly, he realized that he’d rather have the clipboard than her anyway. Too drunk to start with the truth now, though. “Love you way more,” he assured her.

She gave him a soft smile, blue eyes twinkling. “Demonstrate,” she requested, leaning in close so that their lips were almost brushing.

Spike licked his lips. All too clear what the lady wanted. He just wasn’t sure he was going to give. “Don’t think ‘m quite drunk enough for this,” he sighed.

“Your tab’s still good,” Harold informed him casually from across the bar.

Spike gulped…and pulled away. “Not a good idea there.” He gestured for more liquor nonetheless before turning back to Illyria. “That water’s makin’ you a bit loopy, and ‘d prefer to survive well into my two-hundreds, y’know?”

“I do not desire to hurt you now,” she frowned, obviously disappointed that she hadn’t gotten what she wanted. “I do not even do so usually.”

He snorted at that. “Yeah, right. You find the violence ever so distasteful,” he retorted sarcastically.

“You are so insolent,” she sighed wistfully. “No one has ever treated me so irreverently before. It is… _exciting_ …” The last word was almost a purr, and somehow her hand had found it’s way into the back pocket of his jeans. “Do you not find me exciting as well?” she asked innocently, blue hair brushing against his forearm enticingly.

He gulped. Spike Junior was having thoughts right about now that he never, ever should even consider if he wanted to live a long, happy existence. Shifting slightly so that the press of his jeans was less painful, Spike desperately searched for a way to counteract the overly-amorous demoness.

“Look, luv, ‘s not that ‘m not flattered but—”

“We will,” Illyria suddenly decided, grip tightening on him until he winced in pain, “proceed to…your place?” She lost the order halfway through, noticing belatedly that this shell’s previous occupant’s words were coming through uncharacteristically strongly in her speech. It was no matter, however. _Other_ portions of the old Winifred Burkle persona told her exactly what she _did_ want right now. “I desire to ‘slum’ with you.”

“Hey!” Spike protested, offended by the slur. “’ll have you know ‘m—” His protest stopped abruptly when her hand cupped his hardness through the front of his jeans, squeezed ever so gently. “Oh god…”

“Yes, I am,” Illyria agreed. She leaned in close, a licked a slow line over his now silent pulse-point.

Maybe it was the liquor, or the loneliness, or the fact that he just never had been very good at refusing Junior. But, in any case, the words were tumbling through Spike’s mouth before he could think straight. “Right then. Let’s go.”

Harold watched the oddly hair-dyed couple stagger from the bar, leaning on each other for support, and shook his head. The things he saw in this place…


	2. The Joy of Copulation

There were times when Spike wondered about the choices he’d made in his unlife. He wouldn’t give up the soul for anything in the world, but sometimes he feared that he’d lost something when he won his prize back in Africa. A certain spontaneity, a rash impulsiveness, and even just that general _passion_ for life and all its many pleasures.

Now wasn’t one of those times.

“You have grown a fifth appendage,” Illyria informed him, her body trapping his against the wall as her tongue trailed down the side of his throat. “It calls to me.”

“Been makin’ its opinions pretty loud to me, too,” Spike agreed, hands caressing her body as best he could through the thick leather armor she wore. His lips brushed her face in a series of soft kisses, trying to place her flavor. He wondered if he’d be considered horribly unoriginal if he said she reminded him of blueberry popsicles…

“Your taste excites me,” she echoed his own thoughts. “You taste of death and blood, forbidden desires, and something I am not familiar with but this shell’s previous host calls…’chocolate’?”

“More to taste where that came from,” he groaned at just the image.

“I wish to taste,” she agreed, pushing at the waistband of his pants. “Remove your exoskeleton.”

Spike’s fingers went for his belt, showing her how to strip him properly…and then, quite by chance, his head turned to the left and spotted two pairs of eyes peeking out of the doorway of the apartment down the hall.

“Fuck.”

Illyria’s hand slithered down his pants, found his cock, and began toying with it curiously. “I believe…” Another of those little giggles escaped her lips that made him _very_ nervous. “…That I am not quite myself. The divinity with me believes the human form to be repulsive, yet the shreds of humanity within me find this… _worm_ ,” she gave his cock a good, hard squeeze, “quite enticing.”

“You’re downright snookered, pet,” he explained. “And, hate to break it to you, but we’re providing the evenin’s entertainment for the Bobsey Twins over there.” He inclined his head in the direction of the open door.

If he squinted into the darkness of the doorway, he could just make out their shapes. Twin forms that looked exactly like pepper pots, eyes wide and owlish behind those damn butterfly glasses that the two dippy, old bints had never realized had gone out of fashion.

“I shall annihilate them. Then, we will fornicate.” Illyria took a reluctant step back from him and turned deadly blue sights on the door down the hall.

“Wait.” Spike caught her arm, pulled her up against him. “Got a better plan, luv,” he purred against her ear. Much to his surprise, his distraction worked. This cheeky little goddess really wanted him to give it to her good. Huh. Well, wonders never ceased…

“What is your plan?” She crushed his body up against hers, eyes staring intently at his lips rather like a cobra honing in on its prey. Hesitant, but ready to strike.

“We go inside.”

A slight marring of her brow, as if she were dimly aware that this option should have been obvious to her. “Yes,” she agreed. With one hand she opened his apartment door, keys still in the lock from when she’d assaulted him as he tried to open it. With the other, she slung her prize over her shoulder as she entered the room and slammed the door behind her in triumph.

“Hey!” Spike protested vocally, kicking a bit uselessly and scowling into the small of her back where he’d ended up when she’d locked him in this fireman’s hold. “Put me down!”

One possessive hand slid over the curve of his butt, before she conceded his point. “Agreed.”

Spike gasped as, with a sudden whoosh, he was tossed back onto the bed. He looked up, saw Illyria studying him with her head cocked to one side and downright wicked smile on her lips. “Like what you see, pet?” He sprawled seductively, stretching his body out languidly before her. Instead of, say, running for his life. Oh yeah, he was right pissed.

Slowly, she licked her lips, entranced by the lovely half-breed specimen she’d captured for herself.

Spike grinned, then frowned and squinted. Illyria’s tongue wasn’t _really_ blue and forked just like a serpent’s, was it? It was the liquor, right?

She leaned in, grabbed each half of the fabric of his t-shirt and ripped. That tongue flicked out again, tasting the muscles of his chest, giving him a really close look.

Nope, no drunken delusion. He blinked in surprise, trying to figure out how he’d managed not to notice this little anomaly before.

Illyria’s mouth had climbed his chest during his deliberations, and her tongue was now flicking at his cheek, her intent quite apparent. “You appear troubled,” she informed him, lips against his as she stared unblinkingly down into his eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, and that strange but dexterous little tongue of hers slipped right in to taste the inner curve of his upper lip. And he shrugged –  “What the hell. Done stranger things in my day…” – and kissed her.

Lips pressed together, demanding and taking. A little whimper escaped Illyria’s throat when his tongue sneaked past her defenses, entered her mouth, and began plundering his fill of her. Her own tongue hastened to meet his, forked tines curling around his muscle, caressing it from both sides, reveling in this new human ‘taste’…

He moaned into her mouth, clutched his fingers tightly in her hair and pulled her closer. Oh yeah, this was going to be the crazy, drunken fuck to top all other crazy, drunken fucks…

Illyria finally pulled away with a gasp, pupils contracted to almost nothing with desire. “Your mouth intoxicates me,” she informed him, leaning in for another kiss.

Mouth. Saliva. Water. Horny, drunken goddess. Right.

“Maybe we better give you somethin’ else to taste,” he countered shakily, evading her lips and instead guiding her head back down to his chest. His shirt was completely ruined, so he tossed the torn remains aside. He also set to work on his belt; no sense in losing half his wardrobe. “Wouldn’t mind seeing a little skin myself,” he suggested as her tongue found his nipple and began playing with it.

“You are like algae,” she informed him, looking up into his eyes with a hint of her old aloofness. “Green slime drenched in the foul vapors of the earth. It permeates your being, just as it has infected mine…” She trailed off, frowned. “And it tastes really quite good.” A pout graced her lips at that, as if her arrogant little self was at odds with how much her body enjoyed being intimate with ‘pond scum’.

He rolled his eyes, snapped open the last button of his jeans. “You need something to do with that haughty mouth of yours…” he began.

She looked down curiously, tilting her head first to one side and then the other as she studied his erection. “I had thought your species too primitive to have evolved tentacles.” Her fingers curled around him slowly, as if caressing a long-lost friend.

He snorted but didn’t bother to correct her. Besides, the hot little fingers on his cock were enough to compensate for almost any insult. “That was revealed,” he teased lightly, “on a strictly ‘I’ll show you mine, if you’ll show me yours’ basis.”

“My armor,” Illyria agreed, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate. Nothing happened. She tried again, giggled when she failed once more.

Spike watched in outright horror as she fell to the mattress beside him in a fit of giggles. “Uh…something wrong?” he hazarded a guess.

“I lack the…concensin…consisen…” She frowned.

“Concentration?” he suggested.

“That,” she pointed up at him. “To disrobe,” she finally finished.

His expression fell at that. Funny how he’d gone from being downright scandalized, to quite eager to have her hot naked body wrapped around his as he thrust inside her hard and fast and…

“Your tentacle is vibrating.”

He looked down. Yup, old Spike Junior was getting quite excited, indeed. Which meant there was only one thing to do. “Gotta get that cat-suit off you,” he announced lazily, rolling over so that his body covered hers. His jeans tripped him up and – in some fit of alcoholic blessing – he managed to kick them off without falling off the bed. “Maybe you just need a li’l… _motivation_ …” He grinned up at her wickedly.

Illyria studied him like a rare lab specimen, fascinated by what strange mating behavior she’d discover next. What she got was more pleasant than she’d ever imagined. “Mmm…”

“You like that, blue?” Spike teased, nibbling at her earlobe again, taking the lobe between his teeth and twisting gently. His hand came up to cup one breast through the leather of her little outfit. It was hard to feel much beyond the curve of her body, but he kneaded her as best he could, and if the trilling hums escaping from deep in her throat were any indication, she was feeling every caress.

His tongue darted out and flicked at the blue flesh beneath her ear, kisses dotting her skin in punctuation whenever he found a darker patch of blue. Her taste was subtle, true, but the more he got of her, the more he wanted. There was a surprisingly fire and tang to her skin. His ice-cold goddess was a bit of a hot item, after all…

She let out a low clicking sound, her entire body jolting with pleasurable anticipation when he found her throat. Head thrown back in abandonment, she hissed when teeth bit into her cerulean flesh. Power and blood swirled in his actions, and she felt the wild demon waiting to be let loose just beneath the surface.

Rather than linger on her throat, he moved ever lower. The hand that wasn’t tending to her breast slipped around beneath her, cupped the curve of one buttock and ground her up against his hardness. He found himself groaning at that, frustrated to find leather armor rather than hot flesh meeting his thrusts. He had to get her naked, and fast.

Illyria clung to him, rocking her hips in time with his motions, feeling the sensations building up within her body and…stopping? She blinked down to see that his lips had halted their descent just inches above the collar of her armor. He had the nerve to give her an infuriating little grin.

Instantly, her fingers tangled roughly in his peroxide curls, forcing him back down. “More!”

His lips continued their descent with tortuous slowness, moving only millimeters at a time. She wondered for a moment whether she’d accidentally trapped him in a slow temporal vortex, but quickly determined that he was just teasing her.

“Faster.” The goddess within her refused to even acknowledge the idea that she wouldn’t be obeyed. His tongue flicked out at the collar of her armor. “More… _yes_!” The last came out with a hiss when, driven insensible by his excruciating delays, her body armor neatly dissolved away to nothingness in a last desperate effort to get more.

Spike collapsed atop her when the armor finally went, ending up neatly between her spread thighs, the tip of his cock buried in moist blue curls. His hands found themselves suddenly full of soft, supple flesh, and he pulled back to have a look at his playmate for the evening.

“This is more like it,” he purred, leaning in to lap at one dusky blue nipple.

Fingers trailed down the blue-tinged skin that just kissed the edges of her breasts, followed the demonic cross-hatching down her sides, over the curve of her behind and down a seemingly endless length of thigh.

She felt his sex brush hers and hissed in pleasure. “The proper response would be to dismember you for such an infraction,” she informed him before the tickling fingers on her side made her giggle. She frowned at her unexpected reaction to his touch. “Light touches to those regions of my anatomy stimulate involuntary nerve responses which make me—” He tickled her again. “Stop that!” she demanded before giggling again.

As unnerving as Illyria’s half-Fred/half-evil-bitch-incarnate giggles were, Spike couldn’t help but continue. “What was that about dismemberin’ me?” he taunted wickedly, fingers lightly grazing her sides.

“W-When this intoxication wears off, I will be sure to—Eee!”

Yup. Goddess giggle. Definitely the scariest thing in the universe.

“Seems to me that _I’ve_ got all the power here, pet,” he countered, the liquor making him lazy and quite comfortable even though what he was doing was the rough equivalent of running a feather up and down the bottom of Godzilla’s foot right before the stomp. “So, mind me and maybe ‘ll let you go unharmed.”

“You are irrational with toxins,” she insisted.

“Right back at you.” He stopped tickling her.

That blue tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. “Agreed,” she said, body feeling hotter by the moment. Strange that his teasing had not eased her desire for him. It seemed that all emotions – rage, amusement, irritation – translated to desire now. What this the ultimate effect of intoxication? If so, perhaps she had wrongly judged those who sought release within its clutches…

He took a deep breath, almost afraid of what he was about to suggest. “Welcome to have a go at me, luv,” he murmured, fingers curling loosely about his cock in a suggestive gesture.

She studied him, licked her lips, and climbed slowly down his body. “The water I have ingested has inebriated this body.”

“No doubt about that.”

“Never, within full possession of my faculties, would I lower myself so much as to touch you.” Her body lowered so that she was resting over his thighs in time with her words.

“Oh, and me neither!” Spike echoed, guiding her left leg over so that she straddled his face. “Because you’re a stuck-up, bossy chit, and I don’t want a thing to do with you.” He pouted for a second. “And you smashed my clipboard.”

“Clearly, my desire for you is an anomaly. Under normal circumstances, I do not find you desirable in the least—”

“Completely not my type.”

“—And thus these _feelings_ I am experiencing are beyond my powers, my being…”

“Totally not our fault,” he agreed.

“Just so that we are clear,” she added.

“’Course.”

And then her lips descended upon him, starting slowly with a tentative flick of her tongue to the dripping tip of his erection. She tasted the salty drop there, sweet to this alien tongue of hers, and quickly required more. She opened her lips for him, tongue swirling around him to taste all sides as she slowly took him in.

His mouth attacked her folds at the exact same time. Fingers played softly with tangled blue curls as he leaned in and nibbled gently at the pink clit of hers with his teeth. Her thighs descended over his face, facilitating his actions, and he grabbed her ass roughly, one cheek in each palm, holding her down to his face as he gorged himself on the sweetness of her sex. Tongue lapped along her delicate pink slit at first, tasting her excitement, before his mouth slowly opened her, moving ever deeper…

Illyria thrust down against his face, instinctively wanting more, even as she finally fully engulfed him. Before this shell had transformed to accommodate her essence, it had possessed instincts such as breathing, gagging, choking. Illyria had disposed of them all quite nicely. Her lips engulfed him until she kissed the soft, sensitive flesh around his base. Caressed him with her lips before withdrawing to explore this fascinating appendage of his all over again.

He was rigid, thick and stocky. Yet when her lips pulled on him, long and lean as well. Veins pulsed and throbbed against her tongue’s motions, and she felt him quicken within her mouth. Fingers drifted still lower, found two tender orbs of flesh, and palmed them gently. Some leftover human knowledge advised her to be careful if she wished to draw out her pleasure. But not too careful. She squeezed, and he jerked deep into her mouth, deeper than even she had taken him before…

Spike’s tongue plunged into her slick passage, thrusting deep and finding her pleasure spot with experienced accuracy. He felt her gasp around his cock, her throat muscles unintentionally squeezing him, and he groaned and lapped at her pleasure center almost desperately, trying to stimulate her to do it again.

Illyria whimpered around the pulsing muscle in her throat, no longer able to concentrate on tasting him completely. He had hit some hidden source within her, a node of power and ecstasy she hadn’t yet imagined the human form could possess, and his persistent attacks were robbing her of every bit of control she had over this body.

She could feel the nether passage he had discovered pulsing rhythmically around his tongue, found her throat instinctively mimicking its motions. She felt a moment of surprise when the balls of soft flesh in her palms suddenly contracted, and his appendage pulsed violently only seconds later, filling her mouth and throat with a fluid her tongue seemed unable to taste enough of.

But then her own pleasure hit her, and she lost track of all else. Visions of light and color exploded around her, time itself flashing in and out of existence. She felt her universe gasp its first beginning, then collapse into nothing, all in a heartbeat. The ocean tides washed over her, drowned her, consumed her…

Spike cried out, head falling back onto the pillow as he came, shooting his come into her mouth while she sucked off every drop. He could see her body undulating above him, jumping in and out of motion in rough jerks as if time itself wasn’t flowing right about her.

And then he realized time really _was_ jumping about because suddenly his tongue was inside her again, and they’d gone right back to his moment of release. It felt harder this time, more intense, as he came all over again – or was it for the first time? And, belatedly, the worry struck the back of his mind that he’d just keep orgasming over and over again until it killed him.

He decided he didn’t care when they leapt back to experience their pleasure for a third time…

Slowly, the temporal shocks faded, and Illyria collapsed into linear reality once more, her body slumped over his and her cheek still resting against his hardened tentacle. She found that her shell had instinctively starting breathing once more and was, in fact, gasping needily for air.

“ _That_ ,” she announced, her voice sounding deeper and lazier than she was accustomed, “was most pleasurable.”

A soft purr from the body beneath her was her only response. She rose on hands and knees, looked down through the tunnel their bodies created, to find him smiling ecstatically up at the junction between her thighs.

A bubble of laughter rose within her – still intoxicated, after all – and with sleepy, slow limbs she finally managed to turn about so that they were face-to-face once more, her body perched upon his chest.

“Would it still,” she wondered thoughtfully, fingers playing absentmindedly with his snow-white hair, “be ‘not our fault’ to do it again?”

“That’s my girl,” he purred, burying his lips against the small of her throat and biting lightly.

She groaned and knew what to do. With shaking arms, she rose above him. His fingers played over the blue patches on the backs of her forearms, propping her up.

Blue eyes locked with bluer, surprisingly intimate. _Too_ intimate. And at that last moment, they both looked down to their sexes instead, watched as she lowered herself inch by inch over his cock.

She let out sharp, sporadic hisses of pain as she descended upon him. She was more sensitive here than she would ever have imagined. All her invulnerability, yet still she required time to grow accustomed to his girth. Her muscles stretched slowly as she filled herself with him and then, with a final gasp, he was all the way inside.

He moaned at the sight of her little body taking him all the way to the hilt. It had never really occurred to him how delicate, how small she was until he saw her slick passage engulfing every inch of him. And, Christ, she was tight. Warm, too, but not like human warmth. This was the tingling warmth of first thaw, like little shots and tingles of life were going straight into his cock through their union.

 _Fucking a goddess…_ Not even he could’ve imagined it’d be this good.

She rose up over him, hands propped up on the hard muscles of his chest, head thrown back in ecstasy, and she rode him. Her body jolted with pleasure each time she fell plummeted, ecstasy as his member pierced deep within her womb over and over again. It felt like being ripped apart and completed all at once. Death and rebirth and…

“Don’t you shut up with the snooty talk even when you’re getting the fuck of your life?” Spike complained, hands reaching up to squeeze her full breasts roughly as he ground his pelvis up into her with each down-thrust of her hips.

She hadn’t even realized until then that she was speaking aloud. “Do you not show respect even when the merest twist of this body could rip you off at the root?” she countered.

“Oh, and don’t forget the death threats,” he retorted sarcastically, one hand lowering to her clit and twisting roughly.

“Th-The foolish arrogance…”

“Cheap name-callin’…”

“Petty, simple-minded…”

“Bitch!” he growled, moaning as her internal muscles tightened around him.

“Pest.” Her eyes narrowed before widening as waves of pleasure overcame her. She threw her head back in abandon, blue-and-brown hair cascading around her.

“God, I hate you so much,” he whispered fervently as he shot his pleasure into her.

“Mutual,” she murmured, falling forward against him. Their bodies clung together, lips joining, as they rode out the waves of ecstasy over and over again…

Even Illyria couldn’t tell whether seconds or hours had passed when they finally came to themselves, breathing heavily, lips still pressed together feverishly. It appeared time and space were bending around them, and even she was helpless and at their mercy. Spirals of pleasure twisting ever tighter. She could get used to this…

“You are aware,” Spike commented absentmindedly, fingers stroking her blue locks affectionately, “that tomorrow we’re both gonna wake up sober, and we’re still going to hate each other, but it’ll be the not fun kind of hate.”

“Indeed,” she nodded, hands caressing his body almost of their own volition. “We must extend this period of enjoyable toxicity.”

“Just checkin’,” he agreed, before rolling them both over for another round…


	3. Post-Crapulent and Orgasmic Lassitude

It was with a slightly painful haze that Illyria finally awoke. It felt as though the world were ripping to shreds around her, much like it had moments before her parasitic form had finally conquered the Burkle shell. Screams of agony all around, birth and death.

A sound remarkably like a groan escaped her lips, and she wondered whether she should just go back to sleep…

And then her eyes opened wide in sudden shock and realization: She didn’t sleep.

The first thing she saw was naked mammal flesh, hard and pale and wrapped around her in a bewildering maze of limbs. Frantically, her mind searched for some explanation for her blurred recollections.

“’Mornin’, luv,” a sleepy voice muttered into the side of her neck.

Alien blue eyes widened comically when she abruptly realized who exactly she’d spent the night with. Brief flashes of the bar, glass after glass of water, and…

Oh no. She hadn’t actually put her tongue where she _thought_ she’d put it, had she?

“Y-You…” she began indignantly, trying to scramble off of his naked body with some semblance of dignity. Unfortunately, they’d become intertwined enough that she tripped – still unsteady after all the water she’d consumed the night before – and fell squarely on his chest once more.

“‘Insensitive pig’s an old favorite,” he suggested, outwardly unperturbed by this rather unique morning-after experience. Inwardly, he was counting the seconds he had left to live…and, of course, gloating at the fact that he’d bedded himself a _goddess_ of all creatures… “With ‘disgusting thing’ and ‘convenient fuck’ coming in as strong runners up.”

Illyria was too incensed to even respond. His body was cloaked around hers, sticky with their shared fluids of the previous night, flexing and pulsing beneath her fingertips and… Well, actually, she was trying to ignore her first response. Her second was disgust that she’d allowed this shell to be so debased.

“Or, yeah, that look’ll do nicely,” he added, sounding a bit too chipper. “’m waitin’ for a fitting speech about the hazards of wallowin’ with pond scum.” He cocked his head to one side, studying her intently.

“I…” Illyria trailed off, still too dumbfounded to form a coherent sentence.

She needed to escape this body – both bodies, for hers was disobeying her as well. Once she was clear of him, she was confident she’d be revolted by that lean musculature, pure alabaster skin, and clear blue eyes. Oh, and that soft, talented tongue that was flicking across his lips, leaving them moist and tender, gentle and demanding all at once, kissing her breathless before he trailed down her body, found the junction of her lower appendages, and tested his tongue’s talents on her…

In nearly blind panic now, she managed to prop one arm up on the mattress and rose above him. She sat back, almost in relief, only to find that her butt was now caressing something very long and hard.

An indignant gasp died on her lips as she glared down at him.

He shrugged. “What’d you expect with all that lovely squirming you’re doin’?” he demanded.

“Foul…creature!” Apparently, her mind hadn’t quite caught up with her body yet. Actually, they seemed to be at perfect counterpoint to each other because she felt her inner thighs grow damp once more where the tip of his erection was gently rubbing her coarse, blue curls.

He leaned in close, figuring that if he was going to go out, he’d do it with a bang. “Those luscious lips of yours say no, but your _other_ lips,” he thrust up against her sex, “say yes.” He tensed, preparing to flinch at the very deserved blow.

Instead of the mandatory insult, however, she moaned at the friction of his cock rubbing against her, head thrown back in time with the ululating sigh…

And, suddenly, realizing what they were both doing, they froze, horrified blue eyes meeting.

“Er…what I meant was… Where are my pants?” Spike demanded, flustered. He looked around in vain.

“Yes,” Illyria agreed readily. “You will restore your encasements so I will not—” She twisted to reach his jeans and, as she moved, some cosmic force decided to poke more fun at them because the angle was just perfect for Spike to slip inside her quite by accident.

It was just his head inside her, but it caused them both to halt instantly, unmoving for fear of making the situation worse. Although neither really knew whether they wanted him to go deeper or pull out.

“Don’t move,” Spike advised, his voice the barest of whispers.

Illyria nodded. The slight motion was enough to create the slightest of friction through the union of their bodies.

“Oh…” she breathed in awe.

“Fuck, that’s good…” He squeezed his eyes shut tight against certain temptation. Eyes still closed, he fought for his control once more. “Right, then. You’ve got to get off me right now, pet, or ‘ll—Christ!” He cried out in abandon and instinctively thrust upward when, instead of pulling him out of her body, she lowered herself, pushing him in deeper. His final thrust put him all the way inside her wet quim, buried up to his balls in luscious goddess.

Disbelieving blue eyes opened to see her smiling down at him with that enigmatic smile that always spelled trouble. “What are you—? Oh yeah, right there!” he exclaimed when she squeezed. “Fuck, harder!” Then he realized what he was saying again. “No wait, stop! I—”

Head tilted to one side in amusement, she studied him, rocking her hips in a slow, tortuous motion.

A strained whimper escaped his lips.

“Your body is so easy to manipulate,” she informed him, finally seeing the humor in this situation.

Her instinctive reactions had all been based upon Winifred Burkle’s memories. Meager human concerns about intimacy, trust, propriety. They were nothing to Illyria. And, while fornicating in soft mammalian flesh certainly wasn’t something she would have chosen, the way his body was so completely at her mercy was…intriguing. Not to mention the feel of him, long and thick inside her, was far from unpleasant.

“I am Illyria,” she informed him, moving in a regular rhythm now, riding him slowly. “Millions have trembled in my wake. You are no different. You will simply tremble from pleasure rather than pain.”

“No objections…” he agreed huskily, grabbing hold of her hips and pounding into her willing body intentionally now.

She was warm – hot, even – but not like a human’s body was. This was the crackle of power, raw potential, primal and fierce, wrapping tight around his aching cock and filling him with shocks of ecstasy. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before last night, and he was going to savor every second of it he could.

“You like that, pet?” he gasped beneath her. “Takin’ a cunt full of prick?” Not to be outdone, his hand found the union of their bodies, twisted her clit roughly.

She glared down at him, and then the waves of pleasure struck her and she was even more furious. How dare he try to seize control? He was _hers_ , not the other way around.

“Insolent creature,” she hissed, leaning forward against him, sharpening the angle of his penetration.

“Haughty strumpet,” he retorted cheekily. He caught her to him then, thrusted hard and rolled their bodies over in a motion so abrupt it caught her completely off-guard.

“Release me,” she demanded. “I will be the one who—” Her orders were interrupted by a gasp of delight when he struck her g-spot. Her ire melted as the pleasure finally boiled over within her, creating a cascading wake of ecstasy around her.

Spike came at the end of it, holding on tight as their moment of bliss played out again and again in soft echoes…

Finally, Illyria came to with a gasp, eyes snapping open. “You are leaking sticky saltwater upon this shell,” she complained, pushing his shoulders back off of her.

“’S called ‘sweating’,” he corrected, rolling to the side of her and collapsing upon his mattress. Damn. He _knew_ he should’ve gotten a bigger bed…

“It causes flesh to cling like slime.”

“Ever the romantic, I see,” he grumbled under his breath, closing his eyes. “So, what now, pet?”

“You are in error. _You_ are _my_ pet.”

He snorted. “With the way I had you beggin’ all night? Hardly.”

“I was inebriated.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that.” He scratched his head. “Enjoyin’ sobering up?”

“Fissions and faults crack through my skull as if the earth itself is ripping apart at the seams.”

He blinked at her in stunned disbelief. “My kind of woman…” he breathed in a heady whisper. “Oh, and there’s some Tylenol around here somewhere.” He gestured vaguely to his apartment.

“Tylenol?” she repeated with a blink.

“Turns the earthquakes to tremors.”

“A geological device, then.”

He chuckled. “Close enough.”

She closed her eyes and winced at the pain. “I will search for this ‘Tylenol’ when the pain has lessened.”

“Such a rough life you lead,” he teased.

One half-hearted hand swatted at him.

“So…” He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her. “Should I be fleein’ for my life for my sacrilegious plunderin’ of the divine pussy, or am I safe in my own bed?”

“I do not know,” she countered, eyes still closed tight. Apparently, their rather exuberant copulation this morning had exasperated what had once been only a slight pain.

With a sigh, he sat up, nudged her over so that her head was in his lap and began massaging her temples. “’d get you the Tylenol, but then you’d hafta drink more water, and…” he trailed off.

“Water. Is. Bad.”

“Hate to see what’d happen if you got a bitta alcohol in your system,” he concurred, continuing to massage her headache away.

“Perhaps, I should not attempt that experience.” A sigh of relief escaped her lips when his fingers’ motions finally began to push back the pain. “Are human shells so frail with all forms of injection?”

“Well, was one thing you seemed to take pretty good last night,” he countered, tongue rolled up beneath his teeth.

Her eyes opened, then, to fix him with imperious eyes. “Impertinent half-breed.”

“The impertinentest,” he agreed with a smirk before turning back to the matter at hand. “But the water thing? That’s all you, luv. Funny things can happen when demons and humans meld.”

“Like your hair?”

“Oi!” he exclaimed in protest, stopping his massage. “’ll have you know that I—” He froze at her bemused expression, realization slowly dawning on him. “Did you just make a joke?” he asked in disbelief.

She moaned in complaint at his loud voice.

“Right. Sorry,” he said more quietly, resuming his massage.

“How is it you are not suffering?” she demanded, pouting a little. “You were as intoxicated as I.”

“Practice,” he retorted. “Not that my noggin wouldn’t take a shot of JD, if I had any around…”

“Your words are bizarre and nonsensical,” she frowned.

“More booze, pet,” he clarified.

“Ah. Does that facilitate recovery?”

“No, but it makes you too drunk to feel the pain.”

“Hmm…” Her tone was turning sleepy, her body relaxing as his thumbs rubbed soothing little circles into her temples. “Perhaps I will not punish you for this slight, after all…”

“Punish _me_? _You’re_ the one to jumped me to get her jollies out. Had quite a time trying to fight you off. Like an octopus when you get horny, is what you are.”

“Once, I had tentacles from which no being could escape.”

“See?” he retorted. “Octopus. I saw the picture in the watcher’s book.”

“Simple mollusks from the depth of the ocean cannot even begin to describe the might of my—”

“Blue octopus,” he teased.

“Bleached-out pond scum.” One hand reached up, and blue-tipped fingers curled around a short lock of peroxide hair, pushing it back from his forehead with affection that surprised even her.

“There. See?” he retorted softly. “Octopus.”

“You attempt to annoy me. It wearies me.”

“Then, ‘d say ‘m winning,” he countered with a grin.

“Are we still sparring?” she demanded.

“Always, luv,” he promised.

“I am victorious with fists, and you with kisses, then,” she concluded. “I shall select my battlegrounds more carefully in the future.”

“Never hurts to practice up on your weak spots,” he teased. “’d be happy to give you some good, wholesome instruction in the art of bedroom aerobics.”

“I’m unsure whether ‘good’ and ‘wholesome’ would be as enjoyable,” she considered thoughtfully.

He rolled his eyes. “’S an expression, pet. ‘Good, wholesome’ means ‘naughty an’ kinky’ in this case.” He looked her pale blue body up and down with a leer. Definitely some exploring he’d like to do there while sober…

“That is preferable. That, and further relief to the pained pressure points in this body,” she requested.

“Want the full body massage, then, pet?” he tisked lightly. “Awfully domestic of you…”

“Your hands’ purpose is to pleasure me,” she informed him, drawing his fingers down to her shoulders. She looked up at him, studying him with overly-large blue eyes. “It is part of your function as my pet.”

“Don’t take to domesticatin’ well,” he countered, eyes narrowing with annoyance.

“I will ‘break’ you, where lesser beings have failed,” she retorted confidently.

“Arrogant li’l thing, aren’cha?” He shook his head. “And here I thought ‘d broken you. Mighty goddess all curled up in my lap, frisky and kittenish.” He began gently massaging her shoulders. Tied up in knots.

“Never.” The word was spoken with that icy precision he’d previously associated with her.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her blatant attempt to make like they hadn’t spent all last night screwing each other in every single conceivable position. “You’d make about as good a pet as I would, luv,” he pointed out. “Best to keep things like they are, ‘d reckon.”

“Grinding your face into the ground has, in the past, stimulated this shell’s pleasure centers,” she finally conceded, agreeing to his proposal.

“Hey, now,” he frowned. “You’ve been takin’ quite a few hits lately yourself.”

“You lie.”

“You delude yourself,” he shot back cheekily, that irascible smirk on his face that always made her want to strike him as hard as she could.

“Impudent worm.”

He caught her fist. “The ‘impudent worm’,” he corrected, “is Spike Junior. Remember him from last night, right? When he spent the whole evening buried up your sweet li’l quim, and you begged him to fuck you harder?”

“Are you always so…crude?” she demanded, sitting up to notice that the ‘impudent worm’ in question seemed quite ready to go once again.

“Always.”

She turned to face him. “You are an irritating fly buzzing in my ear. The water dulled my senses enough to tolerate you.”

“Could always make a habit of the nightly bar-run,” he suggested. “Quick drink, and then come back here for a poke. Nice li’l routine.”

She cocked her head to one side, considering that. The movement of her head reminded her of the headache she was fighting. Perhaps more liquid wasn’t the solution. Although gazing at that body of his seemed to make him more palatable…

“Water will be unnecessary,” she decided, one arm locking roughly at the base of his neck, while the other caught him about the waist. She yanked him close, reveling in the feel of his body against hers, his lips only inches away. “I have discovered another way to silence you.” Her tongue flicked out to meet his lips.

His standard protests and struggles came to a sudden end when she kissed him. This wasn’t bad at all, really, he decided. Nice stamina, full breasts, tight cunt… And no pesky worries about their future together since even _he_ wasn’t that deluded. No, this could be quite fun, if looked at it the right way. The right way being shoving his tongue into her hot little mouth and feeling her hand wrap around his dick. Fun for the whole family…

“You will enjoy being my pet,” she informed him when they finally pulled apart, her grip on him still as unbreakable as steel.

“Thought we agreed—” he began to protest.

The hand on his cock squeezed and began stroking him hard and fast. “Enjoy,” she ordered.

Ah well, what was a bloke to do? “Might not be so bad after all…” he conceded. “Just… Ooh. Do that again, luv. Yeah, touch me just like that…”

“You are much more pleasing when I have skinned you of your exoskeleton,” she informed him. “Not even your crude words can detract from your pretty, pale shell…”

“Mmm,” he murmured, burying his nose in her hair as she stroked him off. Oh, he could get used to this. Fighting and fucking, just like he liked it…

And then, belatedly, her words reminded him of something he’d long ago forgotten in his drunken haze.

“Wait a minute, luv.” He pulled away. “Skinnin’…” He looked around the apartment. “What ever happened to my coat?” he demanded, a hint of ire in his voice.

She frowned, struggling to remember. “I was sitting upon it, and then I…”

He groaned. “Left it in the bloody bar,” he concluded.

“I did not leave any of your blood in the bar,” she corrected.

And he just shook his head. “Hafta go back and do it all over again tonight, then, I s’pose.”

Illyria’s hand wrapped around his cock once more. “That is…acceptable,” she agreed with a ghost of a smile. A pleasurable sequence to repeat, to be sure…

* * *

And five blocks away, Harold tossed the remains of the table that had been smashed to pieces out with the trash. Yet another Spike-related fatality.

Clapping his hands together, he returned to the bar to clean up and groaned when he saw what the couple with the freaky hairstylists had left behind. Neatly folded over the blue-haired woman’s stool was Spike’s black leather coat.

Harold resignedly picked it up and brought it around with him behind the bar, storing it under the counter. No doubt that Spike would be back tonight to claim it. Maybe with his new girlfriend, too.

Harold picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. “Hey there, Neil. Look, is there any way I can get more insurance on my place?”

After all, Harold was no fool.


End file.
